


The Paragon's Heart

by DGCatAniSiri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DGCatAniSiri/pseuds/DGCatAniSiri
Summary: Brosca begins to reconsider being Alistair's "mistress," and thinks of how he can change this situation.





	

The castle was built for humans, and it showed. Tolan Brosca was actually tall for a dwarf, but he had plenty of difficulty with some of the designs around the place. Humans had this idea of keeping things out of the reach of children. It had the side effect of keeping them out of reach of dwarves. Even with the castle’s staff knowing that the Hero of Ferelden (and the lover of King Alistair) was a dwarf, they still tended to put things in and around him without his height in mind.

Specifically, Tolan had been attempting to get his former sword down off the wall. After the Blight, Arl Eamon had ‘suggested’ that he allow the weapon he’d slain the archdemon with be mounted in the castle, a symbol of victory. He’d done so in earshot of several nobles of the Landsmeet, and they’d voiced approval for the idea, backing Tolan into a corner. Since he expected to spend more than a little time in Denerim, Tolan had reluctantly agreed, figuring that he could pull it down and still use it.

Then Eamon had had the mount for the sword placed just slightly out of reach of dwarven hands. Tolan believed it was a directed taunt.

Eamon knew that Alistair and ‘the dwarf’ had a relationship. And he clearly disapproved of it. Alistair was the last of the Theirin bloodline, Eamon had declared that he had a responsibility to carry it on, marry some girl and knock her up.

It reminded Tolan uncannily of the noble hunters back in Orzammar, looking for some noble to have a kid with and bump them up a few notches on the ladder in the caste system. Only in this case, Eamon was trying to knock someone else up. Tolan had known a few parents who all but sold their children to higher castes in the hopes that the child they would conceive would be able to move the family up.

Though it had gotten Rica out of Dust Town and into Orzammar’s palace, Tolan had never liked the concept.

He’d had the thought more than once that Eamon was maneuvering things for his benefit, not necessarily the benefit of Ferelden or even (and especially) Alistair. Tolan had always had trouble with one of the first rules of Dust Town – don’t get attached. It had helped him become more and more enamored of the future king through their journeys. It had led to him agreeing to be Alistair’s lover after he became king. And it was obvious how much Alistair cared for him as well, having come up with the arrangement – Alistair hadn’t wanted to give him up, but he understood the realities of being named king. Like Tolan, he’d understood that the Landsmeet would have lost their heads at the thought of Alistair marrying a dwarven male, especially so soon after the coronation.

Of course, in that aftermath, Eamon had begun attempting to convince Alistair to drop Tolan in favor of some poor girl who could provide a Theirin heir. He’d never put it in that kind of crude language, of course. It was always couched in things like ‘you have a responsibility to the nation’ and nugshit like that. Tolan saw through it easily, knew that it was Eamon waging a war of passive-aggression on him. So long as Tolan remained close to Alistair, Eamon would attempt to convince him that as king, he needed a proper queen to have children with. The sodding bastard didn’t care one lick about Alistair’s happiness, so long as he did his duty. If Eamon had his way, he’d probably try to twist Alistair’s head around to believe he was happy by doing his duty.

Tolan had spent the last couple of months, the time since the defeat of the archdemon, figuring out the best way to handle Eamon. The Dust Town solution wouldn’t work here – even for the Hero of Ferelden, murdering a nobleman wasn’t going to be something he could walk away from. And, despite the tension, Alistair still respected the man, so he likely wouldn’t take well to the man he loved killing the man who, loosely applied, raised him. And the war of passive-aggression wasn’t something Tolan liked to go through – there were a lot more enjoyable ways to pass the time. 

Letting Alistair marry some noblewoman could be a thing – Rica had indicated to him, in a manner that allowed him to pretend she wasn’t talking about her sex life, that occasionally Vartag Gavorn was in her and Bhelen’s bedroom, and occasionally when Bhelen was there but she wasn’t. A marriage of convenience that still allowed them to have their relationship was certainly an option available to them. But that seemed unlikely – Alistair was certainly the type to want a relationship solely with the person he loved, and not give the time of day to anyone else, at least in terms of sleeping with them. No, that was probably not going to happen.

The best option, Tolan had concluded, if he was going to stop Eamon from getting in the way of him and his lover would be for the two of them to get married. Once there was some sort of official tie between them, Eamon couldn’t do anything to get in the way.

Of course, that was easier said than done...

As he turned away from his sword on the wall, he saw none other than Alistair himself standing by the door of the main hall. “You humans are too tall,” Tolan remarked.

“It’s a burden,” Alistair said with a gentle laugh. He reached out and tangled his fingers in Tolan’s shortly cropped hair. “I find you to be at a fine enough height. Does that count for anything?”

“It counts enough,” Tolan said with a sly grin. The two began to walk back towards their room – and, despite Eamon’s displeasure at the idea, it was most definitely THEIR room. 

As Alistair closed the door behind him, he let out a sigh. “Maker’s breath, am I tired of meetings. It seems like it’s been ages since it was just the two of us.”

“Yeah, no surprise there,” Tolan muttered. Eamon had been all about making a schedule for Alistair to adhere to. If he couldn’t get Tolan to leave the direct way, he’d run Alistair ragged and attempt to sabotage their relationship that way.

That depended, though, on how much Tolan played this game by Eamon’s rules.

Alistair looked to Tolan as he recognized that the remark had been more than just a wry observation about the duties of the king of a nation. “Something wrong, Tolan?”

“You know Eamon is trying to break us up, of course.”

Alistair winced. “I really was hoping he’d come around. I mean... He does see that being with you makes me happy, right?”

That made Tolan smile. Alistair made him happy, too. It was why he’d put up with Eamon’s passive-aggression this long. But he was approaching his limit with the Arl. He pulled Alistair over to the bed, sitting him down so they could look each other right in the eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, actually.”

“Why did that make the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge?” Alistair asked, though his smile took the sting out of the words.

“Eamon’s never going to be happy until you’re married to some noblewoman, popping out kids, or at least giving it your best effort.” The grimace on Alistair’s face said how much he enjoyed that idea. “That’s my thought on the subject too.” He remembered what Alistair had said months ago, when they’d still been fighting the Blight – that Tolan was the first person, man or woman, he’d slept with, and that, if he had the choice, Tolan would also be the last. Even with the claims of how he needed to keep the Theirin bloodline going, it was increasingly obvious, to Tolan at least, that Alistair’s heart wasn’t in the idea. “Eamon’s very adamant, though, that the Theirin bloodline be preserved. As long as he thinks there’s even a chance that he can run me off for some girl...” For the briefest of moments, Tolan found himself scared of the thought, now that he’d verbalized it.

Though he covered his reaction, Alistair knew him too well, and he reached out and cupped Tolan’s cheek, making sure that the dwarf was looking him in the eye. “That’s not going to happen.” 

Tolan smiled, reaching up to take Alistair’s hand. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just... Eamon’s persistent. And he knows where you’ll react to what he says.” 

Alistair winced – it wasn’t a wrong assessment. “Eamon’s got a point. Ferelden fought for its independence for Orlais, to get Maric back on the throne proper. To lose the bloodline so soon...”

“What does Ferelden need more, a king or a Theirin king?” Tolan had always been frustrated with the dependency the Landsmeet had for ‘royal’ blood. The seat of the king in Orzammar had changed hands several times in the past. The Assembly got the final say in whether or not a king’s heir was their offspring or not. Plus, based on the talk he’d heard from the nobles during the Landsmeet, Cailan taking Maric’s place on the throne hadn’t been assured. Ferelden had discussed losing the Theirin bloodline, clearly. “Eamon wanted Maric’s son to put forwards as a symbol. But you’re king now, and you don’t have to play by his tune.”

“So, what, you’re saying... give the throne up to someone else years down the line?”

“Well, there are plenty of orphans because of the Blight and the Battle of Denerim. Not that I know anything about raising human children, or kids at all really, but...”

Alistair laughed at that. “The Landsmeet had enough trouble recognizing the bastard child of Maric as king. They’d lose their minds if they thought I was going to name a common-born child plucked out of an orphanage as my heir.”

“Sod the Landsmeet. You’re king, aren’t you? Do you really need to put your future in their hands?” Tolan’s anger was directed more towards the Landsmeet, the nobility, rather than Alistair. Tolan’s life had always been defined by the nobility – the brand on his face was evidence of that. He wouldn’t let another group of nobles take this from him.

There was a long silence between the two of them, and Tolan began to wonder if he was pushing too far. When Alistair had offered their current arrangement, it had been because he was aware of his new responsibility as king to continue the bloodline. A king could have a relationship on the side with someone, their marital status being a state of negotiation. And Tolan had thought he could live with the arrangement at the time. But each passing day, it became harder and harder to accept it.

“You can’t accept things as they are anymore, can you?” Alistair asked. He wasn’t looking at Tolan as he said it, managing to put Tolan in suspense about what he was thinking.

“I can’t, Alistair. I thought I could, but... Back in Orzammar, I was casteless. I was kept out of sight, I could be killed for daring to speak to someone... someone like you. Not even you as a noble, just you as a human visitor to Orzammar. Us casteless are the dirty little secret who aren’t supposed to sully the air breathed by anyone else. When you said that you needed to be able to go and marry a queen at some point, for the bloodline, I thought... I thought I could accept it. I’d have you either way. But... I can’t be a secret. I can’t keep what I feel in the shadows. I finally can stand in the light with someone I love and not be called trash for my existence.” Tolan hadn’t even realized how much he needed to be able to walk freely with his lover until the words poured out of his mouth. Yet in speaking them, he recognized their truth, the pain that he’d felt since Alistair’s coronation had forced him to the background.

Alistair nodded. “I understand. And... If that’s what the man I love needs, I can’t deny him that.”

A knot of tension dissolved in Tolan’s gut. “Really? That simple?”

“Absolutely that simple. Being king... I never wanted this, but I have it. And what good is being king if I have to give up everything, including the man I love? So if... being ‘official’ in every respect is what you need, I’ll give it to you.”

Somehow, Tolan had always thought that discussion would be more of a challenge. Still, he wasn’t complaining. “Ancestors, Alistair...” he said, voice tinged with awe at his lover’s understanding.

“Don’t praise me just yet,” Alistair warned. “Saying it’s one thing. Actually doing it’s going to be another. It won’t be easy.”

That was putting it mildly. “True. And arguing with Eamon... We need a real solution beyond just ‘we’ll deal with him.’ Something more... permanent.”

Alistair chuckled. “That almost sounds like a marriage proposal.”

“It... kinda is.” Alistair took a breath, likely about to reiterate all the reasons that the Landsmeet wouldn’t approve it, even if Alistair were to make their relationship something that wasn’t treated as an open secret. Tolan cut him off before he could start. “Wait. Just listen. Bhelen and the Assembly made me a Paragon. To Orzammar, I’m a living ancestor. I can ask just about anything and they’ll go along with it. I can make a request that they send a formal request of marriage to the Landsmeet for the Paragon Brosca and the King of Ferelden. Call it strengthening diplomatic ties.”

“So they can formally disapprove of our relationship?” Alistair asked with a raised eyebrow. His skepticism wasn’t exactly unwarranted.

“Not quite. See, any kind of interaction the Assembly has with the Landsmeet also affects the Chantry. They need their lyrium to control the templars and the mages. Angering the Assembly can affect the lyrium trade. And nothing would be considered more grave an insult to the Assembly than to refuse the request of a Paragon. They would remind the Landsmeet as much.”

“So... you’re saying you want the Landsmeet to approve us getting married under the threat of the loss of the lyrium trade?” Putting it that way, it did sound like a bit of a strange concept.

Still, the two of them had faced a darkspawn horde and the archdemon.

“You took the romance out of the idea, but yes. We make it that the Landsmeet has no choice but to agree what we should be married. Because Eamon won’t give us any peace. Because we need something that will make this official in the eyes of anyone who might try to say that we have no business being together. Because I love you, Alistair. And I want it known to the whole of Thedas that you are mine. No one else’s.” Tolan’s voice had lowered, turning into a possessive growl. Rarely was he so heated, but he had cause. Dust Town had made the lesson clear early on that whatever was his, he had to defend, and be willing to do so to the death. The Landsmeet and Eamon? They were nothing compared to Beraht and the Carta in Orzammar. 

Tolan would fight anyone who attempted to get between him and Alistair.

Alistair hesitated a moment, recognizing that this was Tolan reacting from a sensitive spot. “I’ve known you haven’t been comfortable with the... arrangement we’ve had, but... This will cause a lot of trouble among the nobles. And... I’d be surprised if the Assembly wouldn’t have some issues with their Paragon marrying a human, even if he is a king. Don’t they want you to found a noble house or something?”

“My sister’s second child can take on the responsibility of head of household. There’ve been Paragons who declared a relative the head of their house. Usually ones who came from the Legion of the Dead or the Silent Sisters, but they’re precedent enough for a Grey Warden to cite them as examples. And I doubt Bhelen would deny me that, given that he wouldn’t have that shiny crown of his without us.” Bhelen might be ruthless, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to get on the bad side of Orzammar’s Paragon and stand in the way of them founding a house. 

For a long moment, Alistair was silent, contemplating things. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Since the coronation. I knew it would be a matter of time until Eamon started pressing you to marry, have a ‘proper’ queen. And it is going to keep being a fight we must have, you know. Unless we do something that they can’t argue.” 

For a long moment, Alistair was silent, mulling it all over. “It’s still not going to be easy. There’s going to be pushback from the Landsmeet, from the Bannorn. You know how they feel about...”

“About the king of Ferelden even having a relationship with a dwarf, let alone trying to marry one? Believe me, I know it’s not going to be as easy as I made it sound. But... I’m willing to fight them just to make sure that we can be together. What do you say?”

Alistair dragged out responding for effect, but he’d always had a lousy card face, and he broke into a grin. “As if there’s any doubt.” He pulled Tolan into a kiss. “I love you, and I’m willing to fight for this with you. And if Eamon wants to argue, I’ll tell him I’m abdicating the throne, giving it to Anora after all.”

That made Tolan smile. “Ancestors, I’d want to have a portrait made of the look on his face and frame it on the bedroom wall if you actually did that.”

“Don’t think I won’t if I have to.” Alistair gave Tolan a gentle kiss, resting his forehead against the other man’s. “If it ever comes down to you or the throne, I’ll give up the throne in a heartbeat. I didn’t want it, but I accepted it, knowing what Ferelden needed during the Blight. But the Blight’s over. So if Eamon wants me to keep it, then it’s going to have to be on my terms.”

That earned him a lecherous smile from Tolan. “You know, you are incredibly sexy when you get assertive like that.”

Alistair blushed, but managed to return the smile. “Really? Then perhaps I could be a little more assertive and...” With that, he pulled Tolan against him and leaned back onto the bed, rolling them both so that he was on top of his dwarven lover.

There was very little talk for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this approaching things simplistically, saying they'll so easily be able to resolve this issue that breaks up a relationship in game? Maybe, but I love a happy ending, and I'm already slow-roasting canon at 425 degrees just by writing Male Warden/Alistair, so...
> 
> Besides, when a plot bunny smacks you in the face repeatedly with a 'write me!' sign, eventually you just write what it says so it'll shut up and go away.


End file.
